


Spark

by Severina



Category: Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:23:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh, fuck it.  He was hot for the cop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark

**Author's Note:**

> Written for LJ's tamingthemuse community, for the prompt "electricity"

It made absolutely no sense. Matt knew this. His apartment was being shot to pieces by a bunch of small guys with large guns who apparently had it in – big time – for the cop that had just knocked on his door. And okay, granted, his hole in the wall was not exactly the Taj Mahal, but it was _his_ , damnit, from the battered fridge to the collection of graphic novels neatly catalogued and locked away in the metal storage unit, and he _liked_ his shit, even though the fridge conked out every two weeks and he was still missing several vital issues of _Robo-Hunter_. So he should be seriously pissed off. 

But while _scared_ was at the forefront of his brain – because he also liked that little thing called breathing and he really wanted to keep doing it for a while – and _ticked off_ was barely a tickle, there was also a third, unexpected emotion. 

Matt found he was… interested… in McClane. Intrigued, maybe. 

Oh, fuck it. He was hot for the cop.

"Stay down!" McClane growled, and Matt pressed his back against the wall, wondered exactly how much closer to the ground McClane thought he could actually _get_ without, like, dislocating his spine or something. He opened his mouth to say just that, except just then the bad guy let loose another volley of shots, gouging holes in the walls that spewed greyish white dust and splintering the dresser he'd lugged all the way from his buddy Dave's place in Coopersburg and spider-webbing a massive crack in one of his framed posters, and all that came out was a choked kind of whimper as he covered his hands with his head.

McClane glanced his way – he could see that, just barely, through his raised arms – and reached out to pat a meaty paw awkwardly at his arm. 

And there it was again, when McClane touched him. That spark.

"Just hang tight, kid," McClane said. "We're gonna be fine."

At this point Matt could not see _fine_ anywhere in this completely fucked up scenario – in fact, _fine_ was so far in the distance that he couldn't even make it out from where he sat – but he shook his head in agreement anyway. He tried to do that deep breathing stuff they'd taught Terry back when Terry was still in anger management classes and Terry had in turn mocked to him, right before his brother got hauled off for his latest two-to-five. All it did was make him sound like a wheezing freight train.

And then the whole place exploded, and he was too busy being completely motherfucking terrified to feel even the slightest bit lustful toward John McClane.

_Then_ the day that started out as a simple completion of a lucrative coding job turned into a cross-country road trip involving exploding helicopters, exploding natural gas lines, and… well, suffice to say that "explosions" summed it up. But still… whenever McClane threw himself on top of him, Matt twitched. Whenever John tugged on his shirt or his arm or hell, one time on his _hair_ to get him moving, he felt that surge of electricity. 

By the time McClane looked at him across the roof of Mrs. Kaludis's car and told him to stay behind, he knew McClane felt it too.

He occupied himself on the long drive to Woodlawn imagining just what he was going to do about that. 

He had a great imagination.


End file.
